“No, but I’ll learn. I’m fast.”
“Do you have references?”
Oh, no. Not the dreaded “R.” She’d been fired from her last job thanks to her combination boyfriend and boss. Make that former boyfriend-slash-boss. Let that be a lesson to her. Never do the wild thing with the boss. “I—I don’t have any.”
“You don’t? How do I know you’re trustworthy? You did break into my house.” One corner of his mouth quirked, letting her know he was teasing. Her heart purred louder than his truck’s diesel engine.
“I didn’t know it was your house, and I don’t have a criminal record. You can check on that.”
“Yeah, I can, and I would if I needed a full-time assistant.”
“I think you do. Think of how much time I can free up for you by doing the everyday mundane tasks. Heck, I’ll even make your lunches. I’m a good cook.”
“Yeah? But you don’t do coffee.” He seemed to be wavering. She knew how to handle men. You appealed either to their dicks or to their stomachs. If you were really desperate, you dealt with both. It didn’t look like she’d have to go that far with this guy. At least, not yet.
“I might concede that point.” She graced him with another smile. “I’m very good.”
Harlee tried her next tactic, ignoring him and assuming she had the job. She powered up the computer and printer then started sorting mail again. He watched her with those eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Those same eyes would liquefy a woman at twenty paces.
“I’m sure you are good,” he noted as he assessed her assets with a critical eye. “I do need some office work done, bookkeeping, dealing with vendors, stuff like that.”
“No problem.” She leaned forward and gazed up at him, blinking innocently.
“There’s one other small chore—”
“And that is?”
“You said you know horses?” At her nod, he continued, “My sister has turned my barn into a retirement home for her former show horses. I’ve been paying a kid to take care of them, but she’s not reliable. I end up doing it most of the time.”
She didn’t give him a chance to continue. “I’d be glad to care for the horses. So, what’s my pay?”
He shifted his weight and looked out the window, not answering. She kept quiet, giving him time to think. He turned back to her. “Minimum wage and two-week trial period.”
“What? That’s robbery.” Her eyes narrowed. The man was taking advantage of her lack of qualifications.
“Yeah, from one criminal to another. You don’t have any references or experience as far as I can tell.”
Oh, she had experience all right. Just not in that particular area. Not that he was going to find out. “What about benefits?”
He paused to run his eyes up and down her body, warming her to her core. “Oh, yeah, there are benefits.”
Disgusted with how easily she fell prey to his warm gaze, Harlee ignored his innuendos. “So, Mr. Reynolds, what exactly is it that you do?”
“Huh?” He lifted his eyes back to her face. “I’m own this construction company. I buy run-down buildings, renovate them, and sell them for a profit.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m working on the renovation of this small resort. It has to be completed before the tourist season. I’ll expect you to be here most of the day, taking care of subs and dealing with orders, stuff I don’t have time to do.”
His crooked smile did a hit-and-run over her heart. My God, he was a knockout when he smiled like that. Not that she was susceptible to a handsome man’s charms. She’d been around enough to develop an immunity to guys like him. They did have their uses, though, as boy toys if a girl were so inclined. She wasn’t inclined. No sleeping with the boss, she reminded herself one more time. Never again.
“One more stipulation.” His smile faded.
“Okay.”
“No more mention of the Rosehill Camp. Not another word. That camp and land is off-limits. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear.” It was clear all right, as clear as spring water in a North Cascades wilderness. But she had her ways to influence his decisions. Ways that man couldn’t begin to imagine, as long as she never let him have control. That’d been her fatal mistake with Conrad. Smart girls learned by their mistakes. Stupid girls became burned-out cocktail waitresses in sleazy bars. She knew firsthand what that life did to a woman, and she’d never succumb to being her mother’s daughter.
“And, Harlee, do you have any different clothes?”
“What’s wrong with these?” She teased him.
“They’re…uh…not exactly appropriate business attire.”
“Afraid I’ll distract your workers or subcontractors? With what you’re paying me, I’ll need to find a thrift shop.” She’d worked in horse barns most of her life. You didn’t amass a nice wardrobe to wear when shoveling horse manure or grooming horses, and with such a tight-fisted boss, it didn’t appear that would change anytime soon. No matter, this wasn’t about the money.
* * * *
Jake could put her in a gunny sack with a paper bag over her head, and she’d still distract the workers and subs. Hell, she distracted him.
“Well then, I guess if you’ve still got work to do, so do I.” Jake retreated to his office, but he didn’t work. He stared out the small, dingy window, studied the gray sky, and worried. In the distance, waves crashed on the resort beach. The water was still stirred up by last night’s storm. Ominous gray clouds promised more of the same and obscured the tops of the neighboring islands. He couldn’t deny the raw beauty of these islands or the peace he felt whenever he stayed in the old farmhouse. He and his siblings had spent many summer hours plying these waters in his grandfather’s classic wooden yacht.
He could remember crossing the Strait of Juan De Fuca on a calm, sunny day, his grandfather at the helm, the islands in the far distance. Grandfather would say, “Can’t you feel it? The islands are known for their magical ability to wash all your troubles away. It’s as if time slows down, and life becomes simpler and more meaningful.”
Yes, he’d felt it. He still did when he allowed himself to slow down.
He scowled, not liking the dangerous direction his thoughts were taking him. He spun a U-turn and thought about Harlee instead.
What was he doing hiring an employee he knew nothing about? No wonder his father questioned his business-sense, and his mother called him the underachiever of the family. He had a history of stupid decisions based on gut feelings rather than good business practices.
Yet, lately, those instincts served him well. He’d increased his small inheritance from his grandfather ten times over, starting small and getting bigger each time. Just recently, he’d renovated an old hotel on Seattle’s waterfront and made high-end condos. His community improvements on that project gathered local attention.
His current projects in the San Juan Islands were his biggest challenges to date. Renovating this old resort was a challenge, but it was child’s play compared to Rosehill.
Developing Rosehill Farm into a five-star resort would establish him as one of the premier developers in the Pacific Northwest and substantially increase his financial worth. His parents would have a hard time labeling him as an irresponsible loser after that happened.
The Rosehill development had to be a success. He’d invested every penny he had in it, not to mention taken out a substantial loan with his construction equipment as collateral. He’d be ruined and destitute if he failed.
Yet, losing everything wouldn’t compare to hearing his oldest brother say “I told you so” one more time. His mother would look at him with pity. Poor Jake, he always screws up. Worst of all would be his father’s reaction. Jake shuddered as he imagined the disapproval on his father’s face. Then Joe Reynolds’s expression would turn to resignation and disgust, “I don’t know why I ever expected anything more from that boy.”
In an attempt to drive those negative images from his mind, Jake attacked the m
ound of paperwork with a vengeance. He made several phone calls and managed to secure the subcontractors he needed for next week. He’d have Harlee take care of the details, such as housing, since the workers wouldn’t want to commute back and forth via the ferry for two weeks.
A couple hours later, Jake emerged from his cramped office, satisfied with the progress he’d made and feeling better about himself and about hiring Harlee. An afternoon with a good book and a warm fire called to him. “I’m gonna call it a day, Harlee. Is there somewhere I could drop you off?”
Jake grabbed his leather coat and shrugged it onto his shoulders as he looked down at her. She stared at the keyboard; her earlier confidence seemed to have eroded. Then it hit him. Of course she didn’t have anywhere to go. What the hell was he going to do with her? Take her home like a lost puppy? Well, this lost puppy had a killer body, gorgeous boobs, smutty clothes, and didn’t belong in the life he imagined for himself, not at all.
“No, nowhere.” Her eyes met and held his.
“Oh.” His earlier resolve drizzled away. “So, you say you’re a good cook? I’d kill for a nice pot roast about now.” His head wasn’t doing the talking. At least not the one that sat on his neck.
She looked up at him with relief in her heavily made-up eyes. “I make a mean pot roast. We’ll need to stop at the store and get the ingredients.”
“Sure. Sounds great.” Sucker, sucker, sucker. The woman gave him those sad eyes, and he tripped all over himself trying to be the gallant rescuer. Why couldn’t he be like his middle brother, Brad, who charmed his way out of every situation? Or like his oldest brother, Carson, who always did the right thing—at least on the surface. He supposed part of it went back to his rebellious nature. He hated being forced into a mold, doing what his parents expected. His older brothers dutifully took their positions in their father’s empire, but not baby brother. Nope, he had to do everything the hard way. Over and over again.
No way was Goldilocks staying at his house tonight. He’d worked too hard to gain respectability without taking up with someone like her. She’d probably rob him blind and be on her way. He needed a woman like Jill. Plain but classy, a career woman like her wouldn’t demand much of his time. They’d go their separate ways and meet when necessary. Too bad Jill was a such a bitch and a tease. Well, a guy couldn’t have everything.
Jake’s mind worked overtime to come up with a solution to his racy waif problem. By the time they drove into the parking lot of the island’s only supermarket—if you could call it that—he had it figured out.
“Harlee, how would you like to stay at the old caretaker’s cottage at the camp? It’s furnished. Besides, I’d like someone there; keeps the vandals away.”
Harlee looked up at him with those incredible eyes. Damn. He wanted to strip off his clothes and dive right into their depths. Head first. He might drown, but what a way to go.
She hesitated. “That would be wonderful. Thank you. But—”
“But, what?”
“With what you’re paying me, I can’t afford rent.”
“Consider it an employment benefit.” He’d much rather have her benefits under his roof and in his bed. Not on the other side of the property, hidden by the trees. Admittedly, this was for the best. They weren’t meant to be a couple. She didn’t need a guy like him messing up her life, and he didn’t need a girl like her messing up his life.
After buying the groceries and stopping at the cottage to turn on the heat, Jake parked his pickup by the back door. He carried in the groceries while Harlee put them away and prepared the pot roast. Then she borrowed his pickup and went back to the cottage to unpack.
Jake settled into an overstuffed chair and attempted to immerse himself in a good murder mystery. He read an entire chapter before he realized that he didn’t remember a word of it. His mind drifted like snow in a winter storm to Harlee’s smile, her luscious lips, those sapphire eyes, and that classic, movie siren body. He should give her a couple hundred bucks and send her on her way.
He groaned in frustration. Nope, that wasn’t the way to handle it. From the moment he’d realized girls were good for something more than teasing, he’d been attracted to women like her. It was time to test his resolve. He wouldn’t cave in this time. Older and wiser, he’d conquer this weakness, just as he’d conquered some of his other bad habits.
Chapter 3—A Guy Can’t Pick His Sister
The charming yet rustic cottage sat on a bluff at the edge of the closed camp. Harlee had never lived in such a nice place. She spent the next few hours nesting. Indulging in such an act embarrassed her. She’d never lived anywhere long enough to call it home, except those few years with Rose. As a horse show groom, she’d slept on a cot in the various tack rooms on show grounds or in a small trailer at the barn.
The wide front porch and a sturdy, old door welcomed her into the warmth of the little house. A parlor stove sat in a corner of the combination living and dining area. Harlee didn’t waste any time building a cozy fire. A leather couch tempted her to lie down and take a nap on its well-worn, overstuffed cushions. Antique oak tables flanked the couch, as did a rectangular coffee table. Braided rugs warmed the oak hardwood floors. The quaint kitchen didn’t have doors on the upper cabinets in order to proudly display the fiesta dishes stacked neatly like ceramic rainbows on the painted white shelves.
After walking down a short hallway, she found a tastefully decorated bedroom and a small bathroom. Both were done in muted apricots, tans, and moss greens. The claw-foot tub would see some action later tonight. Alone, of course.
She stored her meager wardrobe in the oak armoire then wandered back to the living room. This place had undergone some extensive remodeling lately. Perhaps it’d been rented to tourists in the summer.
Harlee sank her tired body into a rocking chair and stared out the window. The view, similar to the one at the old farmhouse, spread before her. No postcard could ever do it justice. As dreary as the weather might be in this late Northwest autumn, nothing matched the wild beauty of this place. Past the ancient stand of Madrona trees, choppy black water danced around several islands of varying sizes and shapes, each one appearing as wild and untamed as it’d been centuries ago.
Harlee closed her eyes and allowed Orcas Island to work its magic and drive away her demons. She pictured an old Spanish ship sailing through the many passages. Its pirate crew explored the islands, christening them with Spanish names. A sexy captain stood at the wheel. He looked strangely familiar and not the least bit Spanish. His chocolate eyes scanned the horizon for that special maiden who’d make his life complete and—
Holy crap.
Harlee’s eyes shot open.
She so did not invite Jake into her fantasy.
Harlee rose to her feet and threw on a coat. She’d squelch that mutinous daydream with a walk in the frigid fall air, strolling among the boarded-up cabins to the main lodge. Sitting down on the porch steps, she looked around. The place hadn’t changed much.
For over fifty summers, thousands of needy kids had flocked to this camp for a week or two at a time and experienced nature as never before. The islands broke through their cynicism time and time again. It changed their lives in ways that would never leave them. She knew. She’d been one of those kids. She owed a debt to this island and to Rose. They’d rescued her when the world chose to throw her out like dirty laundry. This place had saved her life.
Footsteps interrupted her musing. Looking up, she spotted her not-so-Spanish captain walking toward her. Her heart skittered and thumped at the sight of his devilish good looks. The man was so not her type.
Harlee rose and walked toward him. “Hi.”
“Hey. I wondered if you’d gotten lost or something.”
“No, just enjoying the view.”
Jake nodded. “It is incredible.” He hesitated and caught her quick look. “Don’t go there. I already warned you.”
“But, Jake—” There had to be a way to get through to this man. He’d
given her a clue earlier that he wasn’t comfortable with demolishing the camp. She’d seen it in his eyes and his stance.
“Harlee. Keep it up, and you’ll be on the next ferry off the island.”
She tried a different tactic. “You do know that Orcas is the Magic Island, don’t you?”
He nodded warily.
“The Native Americans claimed it had mystical healing powers.”
“Harlee,” he warned. “I know where this is headed.”
Harlee threw up her hands in exasperation. “You don’t understand the value of this camp. It’s done so much for so many kids who had so little good in their lives.” She sighed. “But what would you know about poverty?”
A muscle jerked in Jake’s jaw. He turned to walk away. Harlee wrapped her fingers around his arm and held on. The words tumbled out of her mouth in a desperate, nervous jumble. “Jake, please. Hear me out.” He stopped but didn’t face her. “To destroy this would be like destroying something sacred. It’d be—immoral.”
“I don’t have any moral obligations to Rosehill.” Each clipped word brimmed with irritation. She was pushing it, but she couldn’t stop now.
“Yes, you do. We all have an obligation to help those less fortunate whenever we can.”
“Have you been talking to my mother or my sister?”
“Give me a chance to prove its worth. I could arrange for you to meet some former campers and counselors—”
“No.” His voice dripped with ice cold stubbornness.
A smart girl knew when to push and when to back off. The time to back off had come, for now. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
She’d approached this all wrong. Guys needed to be maneuvered into believing every idea was their own. Being right wasn’t the issue. She didn’t care who got the credit, as long as Rosehill survived.
* * * *
The next morning, Jake pulled his truck into the cottage’s driveway. He’d spent a sleepless night thinking of Goldilocks. He wanted her sleeping in his bed, even though he’d be the first to admit that would be a very bad idea. Even worse, he enjoyed her company. Wanting sex was one thing, but desiring a woman’s company scared the shit out of him. This insanity had to stop.
Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed? Page 4